


Waiting for Winter

by ikknowplaces



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Arguing, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Post-Canon, The Quiet Isle, Trauma, post-adwd, send me prompts!, very soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 09:50:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21034325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikknowplaces/pseuds/ikknowplaces
Summary: A series of prompts predicting Jaime and Brienne's plot in the Winds of Winter.2. The Afterglow-After departing the Quiet Isle, Jaime, Brienne, and Podrick return to the Lannister camp in Pennytree, where Jaime and Brienne argue about finding Sansa.





	1. Love Will Never Die

**Author's Note:**

> hello again my j/b friends! i don't know what possessed me when i thought of making this series, but here it is. 
> 
> the first chaper is dedicated to the wonderful LetiziaMB (letizialannisteroftarth on tumblr) who sent me this prompt. thank you so muchhh ♡
> 
> in this 3k of emotional rambling, tho, i completely forgot that jaime was supposed to comfort brienne about killing stoneheart by talking with her about aerys, so it's gonna be a chapter of its own now
> 
> the next chapter will feature jaime and brienne getting back to the lannister camp at pennytree and arguing about finding sansa, which was sent by an anon to me
> 
> if you want to read more of them in the quiet isle, you can read my little series focusing in that
> 
> you can tell me what you think will happen to the two of them here or on my tumblr, and i will write it for you!
> 
> also, i did not leave my other work promises behind and i swear i'm working on it. and the chapter's name is taken from birds by imagine dragons, one of my favorite j/b songs
> 
> i hope you'll like this!

** BRIENNE **

On their last day on the Quiet Isle, the snow ceased to fall. It has been, since the moment Jaime dragged her half-dead to the Brothers, but now it has stopped, offering some mercy to the suffocated ground. Yesterday, when she had stepped outside to stretch her numb muscles, after arguing with Jaime that she  _ could _ walk, the snow buried her ankle deep. The wind was freezing, sharp as ice-made knives thrown at her face, but it was fresh, even if it was cold. The whiteness was a good change from the wooden walls that had been around her.

This was their seventh night. Jaime hasn't left her side since they came here. He was there when she awoke for the first time, burning with fever. He pressed snow against her forehead and cheeks and brought her soup every evening until her fever broke, smeared paste to her ruined cheek and oil on the spot her hair had been ripped. Three days ago, some madness took over her and she soothed his stump with the oil, working out the tense muscles and scar tissue. He didn't push her away at the moment, nor complained about it afterward, but she hasn't done it since, though he kept coming every night with the paste and the oil. 

She wanted to think it was because he had nothing better to do. Nothing to spar with, no one to commander over. He had brought Podrick and Hyle with her. Maybe in his spare time, when he wasn't at her chamber, he was looking after them as well, making sure young Pod ate something today. She had come to his tent in Pennytree, saw the Lannister camp from a distance, red and golden. None of his soldiers came to look for their commander. Maybe they couldn't find them. Maybe this winter won over courage and orders.

He stayed in her bed. She asked him to, that first time, and in the nights after he stripped off his fur cloak and boots and laid by her side. She has slept among men,  _ beside _ men, all those moons at Renly's camp as he marched for the throne. She slept on hard ground, slept with rain soaking her clothes, but armored and with a sword at her reach. 

But sleeping with Jaime on a featherbed, covered on fur blankets, with the fire cracking in the hearth, inside a maiden's cabin, in an Isle that believes only husband and wife should share a roof, that makes her feel like she was compromising some of her beliefs. Some of her honor, and the Brothers' honor and kindness, as well, maybe. Jaime would leave if she asked him, with a sneer, saying she wanted him to stay in the first place, and selfishly, she wanted him to. She wanted him to bring her warmth and see that she survived another night.

Her bones ached the most. Her forearm healed well, the cloths the Brothers wrapped around it so tight seemed to help, and she could move it again. The stitches of on the side of her stomach were removed, and the wound was a red line above her hip now. Her ribs were almost as worse as her cheek, shattering at every movement she made. It hurt to breathe deeply, but the Brothers' healer advised her to, so she did.

She didn't dare to request a looking-glass. She already knew how she looked like, big face, bigger eyes, twice a broken nose and freckles everywhere. The scarred cheek wouldn't make anything better, nor the two teeth the Bloody Mummers knocked from her mouth. That day her Septa had opened her eyes, she cried in front of the looking-glass, the ugliest girl alive. She didn't know what she would be now. Uglier. A monster to look upon.

At least Jaime didn't think that, when he replaced her bandage every night, his eyes narrow and his brow furrowed. He kept his thoughts to himself, for once, and she was grateful for that. She had no strength for insults, nor for argues.

Except for last night, when she woke up to relieve herself. She was lying on the arm that wasn't broke, and Jaime was pressed against her back, his hand resting over her stomach. No light came from the windows, draped with curtains, and the fire had turned to embers. She untangled herself from him, pushing back thoughts of how inappropriate and honorless she's being, how much her Father would have been disappointed, and rose from the bed.

Her body ached as she took a step, and she pressed her hand against the wooden wall, groaning silently. Thankfully, the cabin had a side privy, so innocent maidens like herself wouldn't need to go and let water outside, whether if it was the beginning of winter or the peak of summer.

She was halfway to the privy when she heard the bed creaks, then Jaime's voice. "Let me help you." She shut her eyes at the rustle of the blankets. Jaime was a soldier, just like her, more experienced than her, and the smallest of sounds could rouse him. 

"No," she said, without facing him, clenching the sleeve of her broken arm. 

"You've seen me in-"

"Worse, yes," she turned to him, golden curls astray, framing his full of sleep face. Why was he telling her that? She knew she had seen him in worse, covered in soil, his own hand rotting about his throat, burning with fever. "Doesn't mean you have to see me in worse."

His eyed widened at her response. He must be thinking I learned how to talk back to him. She had learned a lot more from him, about how the world wasn't full of noble knights and honest lords, about how a maiden of three-and-ten can be violated and kidnapped in this war-torn time. About vengeance and wounds, about outlaws who had a taste only for sapphires and gold. About fever dreams and broken oaths, about a lady who turned into a monster, and her band of hangmen.

"Do as you please," his emerald eyes shined and he looked away from her.

Perhaps she did need him. Removing her breeches was painful, hunching even more. She found herself wishing for a bath, one made of stone and underground, with steam rising from the water. She wished for a lion too, to wash away her wounds and scrub her skin, hard as frost.

When she returned, Jaime was curled up on his side of the featherbed. The fire was burning again, fresh wood piled up inside the hearth. Sparks flew from it, illuminating the wall behind with dimming light. The glass on her bedside stand was full, the pitcher beside it. 

A bubble of shame stirred at the pit of her stomach. She thought he would be gone, in anger. That he was sick of her ungratefulness, of taking care of her and being by her side, he would rather march in the cold to his chamber, down the hill. 

As she climbed up the bed, she realized he would never leave her, still weak and alone. Not after Harrenhall and the bear, not after she drove Oathkeeper into Lady Catelyn's unbeating heart. He still trusted her, that was the best part, and he would not leave her vulnerable.

She sipped half the water, settled under the fur blankets and watched Jaime's back rise and fall until her eyes were too heavy to hold open, and she drifted into sleep.

** ─ **

** JAIME **

On their last day on the Quiet Isle, he woke up feeling well-rested for the first time in moons. He never slept well with Aerys on the throne, standing so many times at this bedchamber's door, guarding his silver king as His Grace, Protector of the Realm drew his claws into his lady wife as he took her. Lady Rhaella's cries broke through the great oaken door, and echoed in his bedchamber long after. He didn't sleep well after Aerys either. His dreams were always full of wildfire, consuming the city, burning half a million of people. Not all innocents, but not all evil. When his hand had been cut... he didn't sleep. Slipped in and out of darkness, more like. When he returned to King's Landing, he didn't sleep well, in the Lord Commander's chambers, with his Father mocking him with a sword and his sister's soft touch replaced by disgust. 

He had put enough wood for the fire to last until the morning. Mist hovered in this hour before dawn, passing above the snowy hills. He turned around, to see Brienne. She was lying on her back, her arm sheltering the broken one over her stomach. Her head was tilted to the side, her hair falling on the bandage covering her cheek. 

She was utterly  _ vexing _ last night. All he wanted to do was help her, but she wouldn't let him. He supposed she was right to some degree. She was a maiden still, and just because she had seen him pissing doesn't mean he had to see her. He heard her groaning as she returned to the bed, and she fell asleep long before him.

He donned his clothes: leather breeches, linen undertunic and doublet, his cloak and high boots, and slipped through a crack in the door. The snow stopped falling during the night, and the wind has quieted as well. The trees surrounding the cabins were bare and leafless, their high branches piled with snow. The road down the hill to the Brother's chambers had been wiped out as well, but he learned where it began, after seven days on the Isle.

The Brothers still gave him judging looks. They have been, since he insisted to stay by Brienne's side, inside her chamber. Some of them, the Elder Brother the most, tried to prevent him from visiting her chamber, saying that men weren't allowed to enter a lady's chamber, unless they were wed. Jaime had put his smile and best Lannister voice and informed them that no one could keep him outside, not even the Stranger himself, and that they shouldn't try. He kept to himself that she was too weak and feverish to do the things they were so afraid would happen once a man and a woman share a roof. 

And so they have been giving him those looks, as they brought buckets of water and meals of soup and stale bread to Brienne's room, as they brought her clean bandages and the paste for her cheek. They gazed up at him as he descended the hill, before returning to their work. He wondered if any of them had noticed he wasn't in his chamber anymore, at night less even. They would banish them, well him, if they found out he was sleeping in the same bed with Brienne. Perhaps they would let Brienne stay until she is fully healed, and the two that came with her.

He visited the boy's chamber every day. The lad was Tyrion's squire, who fought with his little brother in the Battle of the Blackwater, and even saved his life. He had followed Brienne through Duskendale in search of Sansa Stark, and into Lady Stoneheart's hands. He was the least wounded of them, with only the rope's scar around his throat. When Jaime entered his chamber, the boy was finishing his soup, quiet and small as a mouse. He barely spoke to Jaime, and when he did, it was in stutters, and he never looked into his eyes. The fire was burning, a glass of half-empty milk was on his table, and he bid the lad good morrow.

The other man who was dragged with them was Hyle Hunt, he learned from Pod. A household knight of Randyl Tarly, charged with finding Lady Sansa and delivering her to his lord at once. He had trailed with Brienne, though not to her content. His face was swollen and bloody the last time Jaime saw him, a black ring over his eye and his nose broken. He gave Jaime a hateful glace with what muscles he could move on his face. He hasn't seen him since.

Many things would keep with him until when he would draw his last breath. Stabbing Aerys in the back, Ned Stark's face as he sat on the Iron Throne, blood dripping down the misshapen steps. Bran Stark's face as he threw the boy from the tower, the feeling of the Dothraki arakh as it sliced through flesh and bone, Brienne, Harrenhall and the bear... he would never forget Oathkeeper piercing through Lady Stoneheart's chest, the tears on Brienne's face, the silence in the air.

He could tell something was amiss that day. She kept avoiding his eyes and barely spoke more than a few words to him as they rode through the forest, when he asked where was the place and how long until they would reach it.

She was leading him to his death, that was what he thought, until she declared she would be his champion in a trial by combat, then she was leading both of them to death. Her ribs were broken that day, her stomach sliced. Her cheek was infected, from Biter, she told him, and she couldn't raise the shield he had given her. Still, she had won, and Stoneheart died.

He wasn't furious with her, he found. Yes, she lied to him, almost gotten him killed, but she refused her former Lady's orders and protected him. He had lived in anger for too long, and it disappeared at Darry's with his cousin and when he burnt Cersei's pleading letter.

He returned to her chamber to bring her a midday meal, as far as the winter sky allowed to determine when it was midday. She was awake by then, already sitting at the table near the hearth.

"Good morrow, you stubborn wench," he called when he entered her chamber. 

Brienne rolled her eyes, and it sparked a smile on his face that she at least had the strength to do that again, and they dined together.

They sat on the edge of the featherbed after supper, like every night before. The fire was reflected in her dark blue eyes, in her woolen clothes. He still wore a jerkin on top of his tunic, despite the fire, though he had dropped his fur cloak. Brienne was used to the cold, she told him. The Stormlands didn't have an empty name.

He unbounded the splint she wore around her wrist and squeezed, working his fingers on the bone underneath. "Does it hurt?"

"A little," she grimaced. 

"Can you move it?" He asked, and she drew her arm away and twisted it slowly. Pain was hidden under her eyes, but she didn't cry out. She looked into his eyes after completing a few turns. "Good."

He peeled the bandage off her cheek next. It was a bloody thing when he saw it first, moist with pus and infected, almost as bad as his hand had been. Fury flamed through his chest when Brienne told him, that one of their captors seized her again. It made him want to storm the forests of Riverrun with the Lannister troops and hunt down every last of the Brotherhood and make them die screaming.

"How bad is it?" Brienne brought him back, her head hung low, her voice quiet as a whisper.

He considered it. It wasn't just a wound, nor a scar. The bite took off the good part of her cheek, some parts had been sliced further to end the infection, but it didn't leave a smooth scar as a cut would have. The center of her cheek was a pit, though her ear and jaw had been spared, at least. "It has healed well."

She let out a bitter laugh and shook her head, but her eyes fell with the smile. He watched her as she tucked her pale hair behind her ear, and the flames on her body caught his eyes. There was still a ring around her throat, red and brown. He had seen it when she came to his tent and was reminded of the band of hangmen he heard about, let by a woman called Lady Stoneheart. He didn't believe it until they reached her, until he saw the same burn was on Pod and Hyle's throats as well.

"I think it's time we talk about this," he brushed the line on her throat. Her eyes widened at his touch, like she has forgotten about the noose that was around her, and she glanced at him once before staring at the floor. 

"What if I don't want to?" She said.

He dropped his hand to her shoulder, the one that bore the scars from the bear. "Brienne. Tell me, please."

She lifted her gaze to him and stared at his legs this time, taking a shaking breath. "I was at an inn, when Biter bit off my cheek. There were children there, so many of them. I was afraid they would hurt them, so I fought one them. He had the Hound's helmet, and I killed him. Biter slammed me to the ground after." She winced at the memory, touching the strand of hair that was growing back. Tears gathered in her eyes. "They took us to Stoneheart, I was bound to a horse. I don't know how long we rode. I dreamt of you. Then I saw Lady Catelyn, but it wasn't really her. She wanted vengeance for her murdered son, she wanted every Frey and Lannister to be hanged. Then she saw Oathkeeper and told me to bring her your head to be hanged. They hanged Podrick and Hyle too, innocents. If it wasn't... if it wasn't for them... I would have died. I would have, for you."

All words were lost to him. Blush spread across Brienne's face when she finished, taken back by what she told him. He couldn't draw a single breath. She was ready, she was _willing_ to die for him? Her words echoed in his mind as he tried to understand. _I would have died. For you._

Their eyes met, her astonishing sapphire eyes, and there was only one thing he could do. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pressed his lips to her, hard. Her lips were soft and warm, nothing like he imagined them to be. He cupped her cheek and slowed down, hoping for her to respond, but she was frozen as ice.

He pulled away from her. Brienne stared at him as he settled his breaths and her eyes filled with tears again. They streamed down her face and she turned from him, burying her face in her hands, and the bliss he was lost into shattered.

"No, Brienne, don't cry," he sobered quickly and placed his hand on her shoulder as she sobbed. He cursed himself silently. This wasn't supposed to happen.

"Why would you do that?" Her voice was high as she wiped his face with the back of her hand.

"I wanted to," he said and his eyes fell to the featherbed, the fur blanket she sat on. It was selfish of him to throw himself on her while she was vulnerable. 

"You wanted to? Look at me!" She whipped her hand around to him for a heartbeat before she turned again, the firelight dancing on her eyes and the tears on her cheeks.

"I have been," he sighed, and it felt as if dozens of bricks lifted from his chest. "I've been for quite some time."

She stiffened at that and her sobs quieted. There was no sound in the chamber but the fire cracking in the hearth as she turned around to face him, slowly, as if he might bite her. Jaime held his breath as she looked at him, her eyes still glistening. Then, she raised her hands to his face, brushing the coarse hair on his cheeks, searching for something as her fingers traced his skin.

She closed her eyes and claimed his lips so lightly he barely felt her. Then again, her brow furrowed, hands tightening on his face. Jaime answered back, wrapping an arm around her. She was clumsy and slow to match his movements, but she opened to him all the same, and he couldn't help but think how different she was than during a fight, so gentle and yielding. He deepened the kiss and she moaned at the back of her throat when he brushed her lip. Her hand disappeared into his hair and he pressed her closer, thinking of how long he wanted to feel her against him. When he gave her Oathkeeper, the blue dress matching her eyes, or maybe before it, with the bear, when he dreamt of her.

She pulled him back by the shoulders, her head down, breathless. His lips burned from the kiss, already craving more, and he watched her chest rise and fall. Brienne looked up, and for the first time, he saw her smiling. 


	2. The Afterglow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime, Brienne and Podrick return to the Lannister camp in Pennytree, and Jaime and Brienne argue over finding Sansa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm finally back with this! this prompt was requested by a lovely anon on my tumblr. the description pretty much says it all, jaime and brienne finally talk after the kiss on the quiet isle, and argue about finding sansa
> 
> as always, if you have any predictions regarding jaime and brienne's plot in winds, you can send it to me and i'll write it
> 
> next chapter is what was supposed to be chapter one: jaime comforts brienne about killing lady stoneheart
> 
> the title is taken from afterglow by taylor swift
> 
> enjoy!

**JAIME**

The road back to the Lannister camp residing outside of Pennytree was harder than the way from it. While it snowed heavily on the Quiet Isle, only a light drizzle of white had been falling on the mainland, and it rained without end. The thin layer of snow had been cleared out, melting into the rough ground of the Riverlands, and the persisting rain had turned the road almost unrecognizable with a mix of mud and accumulating puddles.

The high trees were bare and naked, but the dark clouds prevented Jaime knowing from day and night, leaving him to rely on a stealthy ray of light, the darkness that settled more during the evening, a star peeking between the unyielding clouds, carrying a threat of more rain, and his own tiredness.

The cruel winter weather wasn't the only reason his heart wasn't at rest within every yard they crossed heading east. He had departed, ran away with Brienne more like, without any notice to the officers beneath him, and only muttered to Addam, his closet, most loyal friend, that his presence was required somewhere else. If the realm knew his intention was to find Sansa Stark and bring her to a safe place instead of a trial in the Red Keep, that will end up with her head on a spike, surely there would be no one to save him from being beheaded himself, even with Cersei out of Tommen's reach to put malice in his ears.

That was a concern on its own, with how Pia, Peck, and Riverrun's old maester had witnessed him toss his sister's pleading message into the fire. Surely, they had heard the rumors regarding his affair, his three children from Cersei. Seeing him abandoning her in a time of need, a time that could end up with her death, and returning with another woman after a sennight, that would raise more questions than his unplanned departure.

Then there was Brienne. The words that would begin to spread once they reach the camp mean nothing to him- what could be worse than being called an oathbreaker?- but they would hurt Brienne's honor, already damaged by Renly's death. Jaime was not eager to begin knocking soldiers to the ground with his golden hand. His real one was aching enough.

They haven't spoken much since they left the Quiet Isle, two days ago. Brienne had weakly thanked the Elder Brother for taking care of her wounds- and Hyle's, providing them with hot food and allowing them to stay under their roof, and insisted to give him a golden stag and a few silver ones for their effort, then they descended the hill to the shore, down a path Brienne had already known.

Hyle did not continue forth with them, saying no glory and coin could make him march another mile for Sansa Stark, even if it meant being scowled by his liege lord and mocked by his fellow knights. His face was still bloody and swollen, even after a sennight, and he had cuts and a bruise around his neck to prove he tried, and almost died, in an attempt of finding the Stark girl. She is dead as well, he had said, giving Brienne a pointed look, and trotted with his horse south.

They had decided to remain off the River Road, to avoid being seen by another group of outlaws. Brienne's wounds had healed well enough, but she was not as strong as she had been yet, and could spare another battle. The road was a mixture of soaked sand and snow, with deep pools his horse had to cross every yard or so. The waves crashed into the shore relentlessly, shattering against the rocks that rose from the beach, swirling in grey like the sky. Brienne had stared at the sea when lightning ripped through the sky, illuminating the world for a heartbeat, before securing her cloak tighter around herself.

Harrenhall had loomed in the horizon that midday, its blackened and ruined walls piercing through the fog and rain, like smoke emerging into the sky. Jaime's stump ached when he recognized the castle, remembering how filthy he was and burning with fever when the Bloody Mummers forced him to march to the gates, Brienne's terrified blue eyes as he told her about Aerys, how warm she had been when she caught him in the steaming water. Pycelle clearing his rotting flesh, the dream he had against the weirwood stem, the bear and Brienne's tore dress. He glanced at her to find her staring at the castle as well, thinking he hadn't told her about his second visit, Connington and her betrothals. Her eyes had met him before she hurried to look away at the dark ground, her cheeks coloring.

With Podrick by their side, quiet as ever, they had broken their fast over Acron paste and a snow rabbit Brienne caught, and slept with as much shelter from the rain as they could find. They hadn't exchanged many words besides directions and tasks that needed to be done when they camped at sundown, with Pod so nearby. He knew it was wrong, by the way the air felt between them as they trotted side by side, but he found himself at a loss of words all the same.

The Lannister camp was a mere hour of riding ahead. The rain has finally spared them some mercy and ceased to fall as Jaime's horse ambled carefully between the slippery mud. Drops fell from the heavy trees around them, from wild bushes and twisting vines, and the world seemed quiet without the consistent pounding of the rain.

"Not a while longer," he turned back to Brienne and Podrick. It was what he has been saying since they left. Only a day now, only a few more miles, they should arrive before sundown. Brienne and Podrick gave him a nod and he resumed to look ahead.

They came to a clearing, and with it, the Lannister camp, crimson and golden pavilions raising from the green field, though half have disappeared from the day he left. From his standing view, only a few men were striding outside, the rest taking shelter from the coldness and harsh rain.

A couple of young guards armored in lions and boiled leather straightened when they saw the group inching closer, and moved their hands to their swords' hilts. "Lord Commander," one of them said, his voice tight, a layer of sweat already covering his brow. "Welcome back."

Jaime's white cloak swayed as he dismounted. He had changed to his Kingsguard clothing before they departed the Quiet Isle, blending with the snow with his silver armor and woolen clothing. Brienne dismounted after him, watching Podrick as he clenched his horse's reins and descended.

They pushed past the guards and the few soldiers outside bowed their heads to him, their eyes as wide as saucers, as they stepped further into the camp. His golden hand hanged heavy to his wrist as his flesh one led Honor, the only sound behind him was the hooves of Brienne and Podrick's horses, stomping on the moist ground.

As he grew closer to his pavilion, a familiar figure emerged from the path created by the rows of tents. "Ser Jaime," Addam Marbrand grinned, his hazelnut eyes shinning, after a glance over Brienne and Podrick. "Welcome back. Thought you had disappeared on us."

Jaime let go of Honor's reins to shake his boyhood friend's hand and smiled. After so many strange faces of the Brotherhood, Lady Catelyn's tore face, it was nice to see a well known one, that isn't bitten or covered in bruises. "Not quite yet. Where is half of our forces?"

"Returned to Riverrun to aid Lord Frey, should any uprising occur. With you gone, it was the best I could do to our soldiers," Addam's honeyed voice turned colder when he spoke, but there was no hint of judgment in his words, and fear neither. 

He clasped his friend on his shoulder. "You did well. We shouldn't delay here for much longer." He was more than content to dismantle his army, be damned Aemon Frey, Riverrrun, the Blackfish, and all this fighting. Finally on his own ground, no longer surrounded by outlaws or silent men, his tiredness began to creep on him. "We've had a long day."

"Of course," Addam gave him another smile, bowed, and returned to his duties. 

Pia and Peck stood outside of his tent, mouths as wide as their eyes. Peck's thin clothing has been replaced with woolen breeches and leather tunic on top of a long-sleeved undershirt, and Pia's torn, roughspun dress has been replaced with one that sheltered her neck and chest and reached so far down her legs the edges had turned brown with mud. 

"Ser Jaime," they both fell into courtesies and continued to gape at him once they rose. 

Peck rushed to take hold of Honor, and of Brienne and Podrick's horses as well. "Pia. All have been well?" 

"Y-yes, milord," she covered her broken teeth as she spoke. 

"Good," he turned around to look at Brienne, who has remained silent since they arrived. Her eyes moved from him to Pia, Peck, and the ground. "Clear a tent for Lady Brienne and fill a tub afterward. I would like to bathe as well."

Pia ripped her gaze to Brienne as if just noticing her, though she stood two heads taller than her, armored, with Oathkeeper strapped to her waist. Her eyes fell on the freshly healed scar on Brienne's cheek, but no muscle moved on her face. "Yes, milord."

"What of you, Podrick?" Brienne asked. "Would you like to stay with Ser Jaime's squire?"

Podrick flinched when Brienne addressed him. He glanced at her, then at Peck still holding the horses, his feet digging into the ground. "N-no. I- I want to s-stay with y-you, my Lady."

Brienne nodded. It was for the best. Jaime often fell asleep to the sound of Peck and Pia fucking. Podrick was already a shy, tongue-tied lad, who was hanged a sennight ago. He would wet himself in his sleep if he heard Pia and Peck.

And so they went; Pia led the two to their tent, Peck took off with the horses with the help of another squire, and Jaime pushed the crimson curtains of his pavilion open. 

**─**

**BRIENNE**

A sign of relief escaped from her lips as she lowered herself into the steaming water. Pia, the poor girl with the broken teeth brought her a fine metal bath, and walked into the tent that has been cleared for her several times with a basin of water that must have held half her weight. Brienne saw the scars on her face, just as Pia saw her. She hoped whatever cruelty the girl has endured has ended, and that she was treated as well as possible in this time of winter and war.

Brienne had stripped off her armor and the clothes she bled into, lied dying in the Quiet Isle. She hasn't bathed since- she didn't know how much time has passed. A moon, maybe more. She didn't bathe in the Quiet Isle, too weak to stand, her stitches were not allowed to meet water, though she had wanted it more than anything else.

_ Not more than Jaime by my side, _ she thought and brought her knees to her chest, heat rising on her cheeks. It was not the time for stray thoughts; the water would cool soon with the wind outside, and Podrick would get back soon. 

The tub wasn't as big as the one she bathed in last, in some inn, after Duskendale, perhaps. Inns were no good now, especially ones swarming with children. The world was freezing, and her Lady was nowhere to be found. She scrubbed her arms with the hard soap and combed her hair with her fingers.

By the time Podrick came back the sun has set, last orange rays gracing the sky before giving way to the darkness, and Brienne sat on the edge of her bed. 

"I've brought them, my Lady," Podrick lifted his hands, holding a vial of oil and a few rags.

"Good," she dragged the table towards her. "Come help me."

Podrick hurried to the bed as she unsheathed Oathkeeper, the golden lion roaring on the pommel, its ruby eyes glowing. She tried not to think of how the Brotherhood ripped it away from her, how the crown between Lady Catelyn- no, Stoneheart's hands shined as she named it False Friend. 

Pod placed one of the shoulder pieces in his lap and began to draw the oil-soaked cloth across the blue-tinted metal, wiping stains of dirt and dried blood. Brienne balanced Oathkeeper on her lap, moving the cloth on the red ripples on silver. She hasn't had anything to do besides sleep and eat and not die on the last sennight, and she hasn't cleaned Oathkeeper even longer. It was pleasant to set her mind on something, and holding Oathkeeper has always given her strength.

The chest piece was now resting on Pod's legs. He set the rag aside and pressed his thin thumbs beneath a dent in the metal, trying to bend it upwards.

"That won't help, Pod. We need a smith to fix it." In truth, her armor has been too worn out, since before she joined Renly's camp. The blue has gone out, the metal bore signs of swings and slashes, and two sockets have been added, since her last battle. There was sure to be a smith in camp, but she didn't want to waste the coin Jaime had given her, as long as the armor could still protect her.

Pod relented, took another piece, and ointed it as well. They proceeded to work in silence and the flames burning from the torches reflected on her oiled armor. "I think Ser Jaime likes you," Pod said, turning over a piece to clean in from the inside. 

The statement would have made her laugh, coming from a quiet lad as Pod, if she wasn't so terrified. She hasn't talked with Jaime since they left two days ago, since he kissed her. She didn't know what madness had taken over him to press his lips to hers, and what madness took over her to do the same. He didn't seem disappointed or disgusted, though, when she broke apart from him. Relieved, if anything. But he hasn't talked with her since.

"Why is that?" She shifted her attention back to her sword, fearing Pod might see the redness on her face. 

He stared at the crimson fabric ahead before returning to scraping the armor. "H-he fought with the Brothers to be inside your ch-chamber, even though he is n-not your h-husband. He s-stayed with you e-every day. He came to visit me too. And..." He hesitated, clutching the plate. "Lord Tyrion told me that when a boy li-likes a girl, he-he likes to make her m-mad."

Her cheeks burned as bright as the torches at that. She slid Oathkeeper back to its scabbard and rose to lay it next to her side of the bed, if only to stimulate her blood to flow anywhere else but her face. Podrick set the last part on the table, along with the cloths and empty vail. 

_ Then he must be in love with me. _ She leveled her face with Podrick. "We should sleep."

**─**

**JAIME**

The next morning, he called Brienne to his tent, an hour after dawn. He has given up his Kingsguard clothes in favor of more practical ones for this meeting, woolen clothing underneath leather tunic and breeches, and a kerchief around his neck. The bathe Pia drew for him last night was a soothing one, one he needed after a sennight of making sure Brienne was still alive.

She had discarded her armor as well, he noticed, as she ducked her head between the crimson sheets, dressed in black and blue. Oathkeeper was on her hip as always, mail or not. The sword he had given her.

She was now staring at the spread map of Westeros, fixated on the Riverlands, her eyes looking for Lady Sansa between currents and hills, forests and villages. Her hands were placed on each side of the map, the dimmed sunlight falling on her pale hair across her shoulder. She had finally started to look better after a week on the Quiet Isle, even her scarred cheek was less horrible to gaze upon.

He was going to break her heart. "We can't find her, Brienne," he put his hand on the low table.

Her head whipped to him at once. "What?" She breathed, her sapphire eyes so full of pain and betrayal, so quick. "You said we would."

It was no use to tell her her full of honor heart might get her killed some say. It already did, regardless. "I did, but if it was nearly impossible to find her in autumn, it is in this winter." She kept gazing at him with her blue, hurtful eyes, so he continued. "It's snowing, Brienne. Every footstep she left is long gone now. There is no shelter and less food. Do you even know where she might be?"

She dropped her head back to the map and worried at her lips, her fingers tracing the torn corner of the map. He drew a breath. His harshness was necessary, to open her eyes. It was in the past. Wandering in war-torn lands in winter would only get them killed, and he'd rather die with a sword in his hand than on freezing ground.

A moment of lingering silence passed, then Brienne said in her quiet voice, "Just say you regret it."

It was his turn to look up at her, stunned. He didn't need any further word to understand what she implied, or rather accused him of. He had kissed her willingly, not under the influence of some strong wine or fatigue, and she had kissed him back, that day. They haven't talked about it, with Podrick around, the unspoken problem with Sansa, and Brienne avoiding him when they made camp, more then he wanted to admit. It was a matter of time until one of them would bring it up, and not in a civil way, as he predicted.

She had seemed happy, that night, after she returned the kiss. Even smiled at him, something he had never seen before. Maybe she regretted it. "Just say you'd rather be with Hyle," he spat back.

It was a meaningless thing to say. If she wanted Hyle she would have shown any emotion when he left, and she wouldn't have kissed him back, but he said it anyway. She came to level with his face. "He's _gone_, Jaime."

"And I don't regret it." He said, and the features of Brienne's face relented.

For a moment, the only sound within the tent was of the tourches burning, with Brienne seeming so miserable. Why must she make everything so complicated? He sighed and approached the table.

"We know she isn't in the Riverlands, or Winterfell." He returned to the topic at hand. Sansa Stark could be anywhere- as far as Essos on the other side of the narrow sea. She could be hiding in some broken village, could be disguised, could be dead. He remembered the way Catelyn Stark pressed Brienne's blade into his heart as she made him swear, again and again, and again. He remembered Brienne shoving Oathkeeper into her chest better. He didn't do much but glimpse at the girl at Winterfell, but it made his heart clench to think of her shuddering in the snow, alone and starved, if only because of Brienne.

"Could she be in Castle Black with her bastard brother?" Brienne asked, her voice faltering.

"It's too far away," the line of the Great Wall shined in light blue on the pale map, signaling between life and death. If Sansa was still with the person who had rescued her from King's Landing, if she had any wits of her own, she wouldn't step into the North, not with the Boltons inside her castle. "Do you think she could be in Essos?"

"She isn't," Brienne shook her head. "I met a man who said he had seen a fool asking for a cabinet for three on a ship. He was about to lead me to the fool when the Bloody Mummers killed him."

She had told him of how Biter had ripped her cheek at the inn, but not of their other captors. Their mention made him sick. "You've encountered them?"

"Shagwell, Pyp and Timeon. I killed them all." There wasn't pride in her words, nor any emotion at all. She touched her scarred cheek with the tips of her fingers.

A conversation for another time, he thought of Brienne stabbing Shagwell and his black blood rushing through the hole in his flesh. It didn't bring him much joy, only wariness. 

His eyes wandered to the map. Though upside down to him, the Riverlands and Winterfell were clear to him. He glanced towards Brienne, towards the red mountains of Dorne, but Sansa wouldn't be in there. The road is twice as long as to the North, in perilous territory. 

A complicated task, a curse to Catelyn Stark almost came to his lips, and to his damned honor. Complications wouldn't release him from his oath, he could hear Brienne telling him. It wouldn't release her either. 

"What about the Eyrie?" He asked.

"Her aunt is dead," Brienne replied.

It dawned on him then, as he glanced at the icy mountains and the Vale beneath them. "Littlefinger is now the Lord of the Eyrie, and he was always affectionate towards Catelyn Stark," he recalled his time in Riverrun with the Tully sisters, more interested in their uncle's stories. Catelyn was meant to wed Brandon, and Littlefinger dueled the Wild Wolf for her hand. If Brandon hadn't strangled trying to save his father from burning, they would have been wed. Littlefinger could be hiding the girl, for her mother.

Brienne lifted her gaze from the map, her brow furrowed. "You think he could have taken her? Why betray the crown?"

He knew the real meaning behind her words. Why betray Cersei, and Robert, and Joffery. Why rescue his position, lands and titles. His sister was bloodthirsty enough to send the entire Lannister army North if she found out Littlefinger was keeping Sansa safe instead of locked up in a cold cell.

Jaime shrugged. "A man's best motive is no motive at all."

Brienne nodded, her eyes wide against the map, examining the mountains, as if hoping to find an answer in them. "Yes, I think you might be correct. Jaime."

The sound of his name on her lips made something flutter within him, after two days of barely speaking to him. She gave him a thin smile, shy and apologetic, and reached out to eclipse his hand with her own. 

He could not resist smiling himself. He was tired of war and loss, of the journey ahead of them, of Brienne's honor that would get them killed or buried in snow, and her stubbornness that kept her from talking with him until now. 

Her eyes were blue as ever, each freckle visible in this morning light, the strand of hair Biter had torn off her head well growing. He moved his hand to rest on her chin, and the blush spread across her cheeks. 

"I don't regret it," he said, and pressed his lips to her.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> i'm on [tumblr](https://ikknowplaces.tumblr.com)


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